


cause i haven't moved in years

by misantlery



Category: Persuasion - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Gen, Pre-Canon, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misantlery/pseuds/misantlery
Summary: Frederick Wentworth had no expectation of becoming a fleet magician.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 85
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	cause i haven't moved in years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tigrrmilk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigrrmilk/gifts).



An even dozen officers had been invited that day, and when the admiral called Benwick first, Frederick knew they were to be tried in order of their last name, and that he would not be returning to the Laconia as soon as he had thought. Still, he raised his glass to Benwick, and Benwick returned a nervous but excited smile. _He_ was far more enthusiastic about the prospect of magic, having read all the poems of the Golden Age magicians, and quite a few about the Silver Age magicians, and having tried writing a few himself. 

Frederick had no such romantic notions: magic, as far as he was concerned, real magic, was a practical matter, like an advance in the design of cannons, or a better-quality sail. He hoped, for his friend's sake, that Benwick was chosen for a fleet magician; for himself, he would prefer to ascend through the Navy in the traditional manner. And magic had long been considered the purview of gentlemen, and, indeed, most of those gathered here by the government had some advantage of birth or learning or both. Frederick was himself not sure if he'd been called because his brother was a man of the church, or his sister married to an admiral; what he knew of magic, he'd read in the papers on shore leave, or in dispatches from Portugal. And, of course, there were always rumors in the countryside. Six or seven years ago, his brother had taken a curacy in Monkford, near the lands of a family whispered to have a fairy ancestor. It was said, within Sir Walter's hearing and sometimes by Sir Walter himself, that such extraordinary heritage could be seen in the family's beauty and youthfulness. But fairies were also rumored to be capricious and flighty; to bestow, and then withdraw, their favor--

Frederick turned his attention to the conversations of the other officers. 

It would be worth it, said Lieutenant M-----, being a magician, if there was a spell to improve the quality of this year's wine. 

Some others laughed, and Captain R------- demanded to know why it had to be the French they had to be at war with, and not a place with worse or no vineyards. Midshipman P------- suggested that they declare war on Denmark, to general acclaim. 

The door opened, the admiral emerged, and called in Captain E-------. Benwick, apparently, had left by another door. Frederick felt his absence keenly. He did not know many of the others, except by nodding acquaintance, but many of _them_ had known each other since childhood. Such were the ways of gentlemen, and while they were happy to have men like Frederick Wentworth in their Navy, they did not want him in their families--

Lieutenant M----- was speaking of Portsmouth now, and as Frederick knew the city as well as any of them, he was pleased to take part in the conversation, as several more officers were called in, and then M----- left, and P------- turned the discussion to an old marquess who was said to summer here. 

Ignorant of the marquess in question, Frederick could only think of how Portsmouth compared to Somersetshire, with its rolling green hills and red-leaved groves, was the sort of place in which one could believe in magic. There had been a spell in the air there, surely; in Portsmouth, there was the smell of fish in the air, and tar, and the oaths of sailors staggering back to their ships. Benwick had spoken of great workings taking place here, but Frederick could scarcely believe it. 

But perhaps they had been gathered here because if one could work magic in the middle of a most unmagical English city, one could work it anywhere. 

And Frederick did not intend to return to Somersetshire. 

From the room off their drawing room with its very unmagical cream and rust wallpaper, came the raised voice and imperious accent of Midshipman P------- declaring that he might have been thinking of the bottom of a bowl, and therefore they could not say that he had _not_ performed magic, surely they could not say he had not performed magic. And there was the sound of a scuffle, and Lieutenants S----- and T------- exchanged glances, and Captain V--- poured himself another glass of sherry, not too nice to wait for a servant. 

When the admiral re-emerged, his wig was slightly askew and he was red in the face. Frederick felt a great deal of sympathy for him. He'd had his share of ensigns and midshipmen who believed themselves entitled to all manner of favors and promotions, because they had been born into a great house. They did not acquit themselves terribly well in battle. He'd lost one of them, a young Dick Musgrove, who'd had some connection to Kellynch Hall. Frederick had heard that several years back, a Musgrove had married an Elliott--

It was a pity that Captain V--- appeared to have emptied the sherry decanter. 

At long last, the admiral called out, "Captain Wentworth!" and Frederick stood, and was shewn into the room where he would be expected to perform magic. It was plainer than the drawing room, its only furnishing four hard chairs for the men from the admiralty, the government, and Oxford, and a table upon which sat a large silver bowl filled with water, and an even larger silver ewer. The water rippled with the breeze through the window, and the sea salt air made Frederick miss the Laconia dreadfully. 

A small dark man in a frogged jacket handed him a folded piece of paper, upon which was written a few lines instructing him in the performance of the spell.

Frederick read through the lines twice, committing the sequence to memory, and then cleared his throat and asked what it was they wanted to see in the surface of the water? He did not add, though he much wanted to, that he did not think it was the bottom of the bowl. 

The man from Oxford shook his head. They did not have anything in mind, he assured him. A trained magician might see anything he wished to in water, but for the purposes of the test, they would prefer the captain to think upon some person or place he knew well. If he shewed talent now, he could be trained up to searching for missing ships and foreign armies. 

Frederick, missing his ship, would have expected to see that, if anything, in the bowl, but as he went through each line as expected, his mind must have cast wider, and before he could stop himself a familiar face appeared in the basin: Anne Elliott, not quite as he had known her, but much reduced. 

He stood and stared in shock, more at her appearance than the magic he had done to bring it about. She was even more wan than she had been when he'd seen her last, when she'd offered him her regrets, and was sat at the piano, but was not appearing to have any joy of it. 

He would have supposed himself glad to see her unhappy--to have preferred it, at least, to seeing her content at another man's side--but the paleness in her cheek and the dullness of her eyes worked upon him like an enemy's bayonet. He had loved her once, too much to hate her still. He wished he might comfort her, lay his hand upon hers, bring some warmth to those poor thin fingers and some color to her cheeks. 

Frederick reached towards the basin, and, touching only water, jerked his hand away. Throat dry and head spinning, he read the last line on the paper, to clear the basin, and, watching Anne vanish, did not hear any of the gentlemen's congratulations.


End file.
